Diane Mehta’s (Incoming Writing Fellow 2021) poem “Plum Cake” was published in the New Yorker.

“I’d make a plum cake when she died,
a lamentation grief-bake, Kaddish through blood-recipe,
all of its colors shrieking at me; a sweet take on her love.
I gaze at the street. Tree branches out front are tangled,
my floor is slanted, my house-cage is so small and dark
for all the summits, slopes, and swamps of feeling.”

To read the full poem, click here.